


This Feeling

by mondsters



Category: Fleabag (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, I'm not over this series, It has ruined me, Slow Build, after the series ends, fluff!!!, lingering feelings, suggestive conversation, they meet again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 03:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19881187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mondsters/pseuds/mondsters
Summary: It's been exactly 2 years, 11 months, 27 days and several hours since they've last seen each other. But is that enough time for their feelings to pass when they see one another again, or will it just drive them back to where they left off?Brought together by exchanging vows, some baked goods, and odd chats, how do they deal with talking too much without ever saying anything they should.





	This Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly sad that there aren't a lot of fics for this series because it has to be one of the best I've ever watched. So here's my contribution. My writing is extremely rusty, and I honestly think that Fleabag is amazing enough as it is, but I just needed a way to process my emotions. 
> 
> Italicized will be when she's breaking the fourth wall.

**2 years, 11 months, 27 days Later**

“Can you hear me? Hello? Are you there?”

The screen blurry with a lagging image of brown hair. 

“Claire? Are you there? Claaaaire-”

“All right, all right, I’m here, it’s not like your yelling has to travel oceans to reach me.” Claire says as her image on the screen becomes clearer. Her hair was longer now, really shiny and gorgeous, but I wasn’t about to tell her that. 

“It’s the least I could do considering you’re ditching going with me to dad’s tomorrow.” I say. It’s dad and our godmother’s three year anniversary party tomorrow, so of course they have to throw a party.

“What do you want me to do? They need me here in Finland, and the doctor told me that I shouldn’t risk air travel or something might happen.” 

Claire moved to Finland permanently with Klare and are now expecting their first baby together. While I’m stuck here with no better excuse than having to mediate Hilary and Stephanie’s lover’s quarrel. An insufficient excuse, sadly. 

“It shouldn’t be so bad, have a few drinks, mingle a little, _maybe_ find someone to flirt with. 

“I don’t do that anymore,” I roll my eyes.

“I mean, it _has_ been a while, hasn’t it? Aren’t you worried your vagina has closed up by now?”

“Oy! I know for a fact it hasn’t. That’s the beauty of technology, isn’t it? Who needs a man when I can perfectly take care of myself.”

“Oh, I _know_ that you can take care of yourself, I’m just saying you don’t always _have_ _to_. You can ask for help, a lending hand, if you will.” She chuckles, and I can’t help but snort at her joke. Claire really does look happier now, funnier even. She was basically glowing. 

“Yeah, well, fuck off!” I laugh, “Listen, I’ve gotta go, I have to pick up some flowers for tomorrow before opening the cafe.”

“All right, have fun tomorrow, bye.” She says before logging off the video call and only her name and the call duration are left on the screen. 

I stand up and head to the door with my purse and coat. It’s been a bit lonely without Claire to annoy me whenever I see her, the only real benefit of her moving is that she can’t force me to give back the clothes I steal from her. 

**The next day**

There was a chill in the air that made me pull the collars of my coat closer to my chest. Maybe it was just me, or maybe it was my godmother/stepmother’s eerie smile as she opened the door for me.

“You can set the flowers over there to the left.” She says as she ushers me to the backyard. On the third time she made me adjust the flower placement --‘A little to the right, oh dear, maybe to the left? How about a quarter of an inch back to the right’-- when I hear my father’s voice.

“We’re back.” He says timidly, making a beeline towards his wife who was ready to bombard him with tasks to keep busy before the party. 

I was still working on the flowers, looking for some way to make them to burst into flames, when guests start arriving. The usual pleasantries were exchanged, greeting each acquaintance, re-introductions being made after the 3 years of not really caring about one another’s existence. There were new faces too, ‘fans’ of the sexhibition, some colleagues from art industry, _more_ people being introduced as homosexuals to strangers. It was a laugh watching the awkward interactions, but with Claire being miles away, I settle on silently chuckling to myself behind my glass of wine. 

“That Cabernet blanc must be really funny.” a low raspy voice says from my side. I have to stop myself from smiling. 

_Oh my god. Or rather,_ his _God._

“Well, come on then, let’s hear it.” he says.

“It was just telling me about how all these Italian grapes have a massive foot fetish.”

He nearly chokes on his drink.

“What’s even worse is the BDSM they play into it, practically begging to be stomped on.”

“That’s very interesting, something to keep in mind next time I go buy sacramental wine.” He says, smiling in amusement, his gaze steadily on her.

_Fuck._

“So, what brings you here today, Father?” I ask, taking a sip from my glass. 

“I was invited to officiate the renewal of vows. I mean, they were my first wedding, only fitting that I renew their vows as well.” He says, replacing his glass for a stronger spirit from a passing waiter’s tray, “You look well, how have you been?”

I’ve been avoiding the fuck out of him for three years. Going out of my way to not be within eyeshot of the church, never going near the M&S where he buys his G&Ts, choosing to walk an extra mile rather than wait in _that_ bus stop _._ I smile, “Couldn’t be better. And you?”

“Oh, the same. My restaurant reviews have been doing particularly well, rave reviews from-”

“Shame, I don’t think I’ve seen it recently.”

“You haven’t? Well it’s in this month’s parish newsletter,” He pauses. “You can pick up a copy on Sunday, if you’re free.”

An awkward silence falls between us. 

The same church I hadn’t stepped foot on in years. Because he asked me not to. 

We stood in silence, not really knowing what else to say to one another. He continued to glance at me, his mouth parting as if to say something, but would close again without a word passing through his lips. 

_His delicious lips_.

“Everyone, everyone, please take your seats, the ceremony will begin in a few moments.” a voice called out.

“Well, looks like I better-” “I really should head over-” we say in unison, words jumbling together. We laugh at ourselves. A sense of familiarity washes across his face, but he’s quick to shake it off. 

“I better look for my dad, he’ll want me to give him away again.” I say.

“Oh, uh, all right, I’ll be the one at the end of the aisle,” he jokes, “In the pretty white dress.”

The ceremony goes smoothly, gone are the cynical lines of ‘love is awful’ to be replaced by generic verses of Corinthians 13. They exchange their vows, mostly about how dad needs to do more chores, and they kiss. 

The party continues past sunset, each guest now with a drink in hand, boisterous laughter echoes through the garden. I sneak to the kitchen where only the catering staff are allowed, and grab an extra slice of cake to bring home before I say a quick goodbye, give Claire’s congratulations, and leave through the side of the house. The way I usually do to avoid more people and their preying questions. The night was quiet as I walked away from the party, the moon was waning, the stars, though few, were out above the London sky. It was a nice sight. It allowed me to steady myself, calm down from the day’s anxieties, from the unending questions i had, and just breathe. 

That was, until I hear the bush rustling. 

“Oh Jesus!” I yell, startled to find another person there standing next to the brick wall among the shadows and foliage. 

“Fuck, sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” He said, he had changed from his priestly dress and back into his usual black clergy shirt and pants. “I didn’t think anyone would mind me here.”

My heart was racing - _not because of him, shut up_ \- my hand on my chest. “You almost gave me a heart attack, you psycho.”

“Really? I think you’d need one first before I can cause any real damage to it.” He jokes, leaning back on the wall as he takes a deep drag off his cigarette.

I smile, rolling my eyes as my heart calms down.

“You want one?” he offers his carton.

“Oh, no, thanks. I quit a while back. Found out it was bad for your body. Who knew?”

He blows air out of his nose, “I’ve had to sacrifice enough shit, I don’t want to have to give this one up too.” 

He looks at me intently, with those eyes that can pierce through almost any facade you throw at him. He smells of nicotine and alcohol, all too familiar to me, a wave of nostalgia hits me hard. We keep our distance, not knowing what would happen if we got closer. I was sober, whereas he was clearly not. But none of that mattered. All I could think of was the fact that he was right in front of me. And he wasn’t just looking at me, he could _see_ me. 

I smile at him warmly, “I should head home. It was nice seeing you again.” -- _And I mean it._

“Yeah it was,” He moves closer, raising his arms for a hug, but settles for an arm touch, “Maybe I’ll see you later.”

_If ‘later’ meant another couple of years._

I nod in response, and walk toward the street without another word, leaving him under the dimly lit corner of the house. I’m a few meters away from the house when I hear someone calling after me.

“Darling!”

_What now?_

“Darling, I almost forgot! I need you to bake me some muffins and cookies for the church bake sale. I promised Father a few of my old sketches to sell and thought it would be so lovely for our family to show unified support for the parish,” she smiles, baring her fangs-- I mean, teeth.

“Uh--”

“Thank you for agreeing dear, the bake sale’s this weekend, so you can make around two or three dozen each kind. That would be marvelous.” She says before sauntering back to the party, leaving me stunned and figuring out how the fuck I was going to fit in baking everything in two days. 

_For fuck’s sake_. 

**The bake sale**

Because I have an amazing godmother, not only did I have to bake and wrap the cookies and muffins up, I also have the great honor of delivering them myself to the church before the sale. I’ve been good and staying abstinent but I don’t know why she’s so hellbent on fucking my life so hard. 

It’s 5:30 in the morning, the sun is barely up, rays peeking through the dense smog that enveloped London. It’s an ungodly hour where, in the past, I would have just been on the way home from a long night. But since I don’t do that anymore, I was up at this godforsaken time so i could sneak baked goods into a church. Not the most James Bond mission, but stealth was still of the utmost importance. I carry the boxes under the dim streetlamps, the sidewalks wet from the early morning showers, there’s fresh dew on the grass, newspapers being delivered on door steps. The whole town seemed to be asleep, but here I was sneaking boxes through the streets. 

Just as the sun broke through the clouds, I break into the church. It wasn’t that hard, really, all I had to do was jiggle a lock and I was in. The more difficult part was trying to make sure not to make a sound as I sneak past Pam’s room and head to the pantry. The lights were still off, nothing but Pam’s snores could be heard. The coast is clear. I slowly reach to open the door with one hand while balancing the boxes on the other. I take my time turning the knob, and just as its about to click, the door swings open and catches me by surprise. I take a step back, losing my balance and my hold on the boxes. 

“Woah, woah, woah there,” he catches the boxes before they fall and steadies me with a hand on my elbow. 

_Oh fuck me._

“Are you all right?” He asked, removing his hand from my elbow as I regain my balance - _aw_ \- and takes all the boxes from my hands.

“Yeah- yeah, just fine.” I say, a little dazed and surprised to even see him. He was wearing an old, worn graphic shirt and pyjama pants, his hair shorter than it had been last time we’d met, but was mused from being in bed. He still had sleep in his eyes and blinked repeatedly at me. As if to make sure I was real and not a dream. 

“Right, good,” he places the boxes on the counter, opening them to inspect for any damage. “I-I didn’t expect to see you today.”

“Would’ve worn better pyjamas if you knew I was coming, eh?”

“You’ve seen me in far worse, nothing to be ashamed of now.” he jokes, but it makes me bite my lower lip. “Pyjamas, I mean.”

Silence.

“Well, that’s all I really came for, just had to deliver those, so I should go and let you get on with your day.” I say turning around, trying to make as quick an exit as possible.

“Wait,” he calls out, I turn to him- _like an idiot. It’s obviously a trap_. “Let me make you a cup of coffee, or some tea.”

“I--”

“You’ve come all this way, it’s the least I could do,” he pauses. “Please, for me.”

 _Ughhh, not those eyes._

“For the parish. As thanks for your donation.”

“Fine.”

He waits for me to come back and sit on a stool by the pantry island. He gets busy with the coffee maker, spilling some beans on the table, fumbling with the cups. It was all hilarious. Hilariously adorable _._

He sets the cup in front of me, turning to grab the sugar and some cream. I fix my coffee as he continues to stare, itching to say something, but drowns it down with a large sip.

“Sorry for the shit coffee, our machine’s been on the fritz lately.” he said. 

“Oh, no, it’s all all right.” I say. _A lie. It’s terrible coffee._

I catch him chuckling to himself. 

“What?”

“You still do that thing.”

“What thing?” _*eyes widen*_

“There! That thing! After all these years, you still disappear to yourself.”

“Well I’ve done a pretty good job doing that here, just like we agreed.”

Silence. He smiles sadly, and I almost wish I could take it back. 

“Don’t go patting your back just yet, I did just catch you _breaking into_ _church to leave some muffins_.” He says.

“And the cookies too! Put that in next month’s parish newsletter.”

“Oh, it’ll be the front page headline.” 

We laugh. And for a moment it felt like no time had passed. Like nothing terrible had happened between us. But only for a moment. 

“You know, you didn’t have to do such a fantastic job disappearing.” 

I shrugged. “Just seemed easier for the both of us that way.”

“Was it really though?” 

I smile, shaking my head. “No, no it wasn’t.” 

He nods his head low, not able to look me in the eye.

“But hey, here we are now. Like you said, it’s passed.” 

There’s heaviness in the room as we continue to sip our coffee. The sun shining brighter outside, birds singing, more cars making their way down the streets. No matter what was happening in that room at that moment, the world didn’t care, it continued to move along. 

“G’morning, Father!” Pam says enthusiastically as she enters the room, already fully dressed and ready for today’s festivities. She looks chipper and energized, that is, until she notices me in the pantry. 

“Morning.” She says to me flatly. She leaves the room with a cup of coffee and something about needing to hurry.

“God, she hates me.” I say, running my hands through my hair. He laughs at this. “It’s not funny! I haven’t even done anything wrong to her!”

“Pam means well.” But he doesn’t seem so sure himself. 

“Let her have all this crap coffee, then.”

“Should really do something about this actually, I know I shouldn’t be complaining, but I’m sure even Jesus wouldn’t wash his feet in this shit.”

I laugh, _bible humor, it’s funny when you get it_. “Well, not to suck my own cock, but the cafe has a pretty good espresso machine if yours ever breaks down.”

He pauses. “I might just take you up on that--”

In that moment, a group of older ladies barge into the room. “Good morning Father! Your volunteers are here, and we’ve got lots to do.”

 _This is my cue to leave_.

“Hello, love, are you volunteering too?” one of them asked. 

“Oh, no, no, just delivering--” 

“It’s nice to see new faces around here, we don’t get a lot of younger sorts out.” Another said.

“I actually should be going, I need to open the cafe.” I say, directed at him but for everyone else’s benefit as well. “I hope you have a good bake sale today, Ladies, Father.”

I walk out the room just as someone asks him about the cafe before I tuned everyone out. 

It was a slow day in the cafe. Hilary and Stephanie were in their pen, watching as I cleaned up shop and turned the chairs over. 

“What’d you think girls, we need something to spice up days like this.” They responded with squeaking. “You’re right, nothing can ever beat chatty wednesdays, but we need to think of something.”

My phone rang, a notification on the screen saying I just got a message.

**Sexy Priest**

The pastries you brought in were a hit! Sold out so fast hadn’t had the chance to try them myself

Pause. 

Three dots were moving. He was typing.

**Sexy Priest**

That coffee you offered wouldn’t happen to have a cookie to go along with it, would it?

_Shame he doesn’t want my muffin_.

**Over coffee**

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He was in the cafe, standing in front of the counter. It seemed like a dream. I thought about it many times through the years, that he would come in the door, walk straight to me and fuck me there and then on top of the register. 

_But this isn’t that kind of story_. 

“There’s not much people today, so lucky you get to have five star service.” I set the cup in front of him, the foam an abhorrent mess that I had practiced on. I _have_ been trying, I just wasn’t very good at latter art yet. 

“Can’t get any better than this!” He says with a wide smile, his arms spread wide for effect. “That’s a quality cappuccino right there.”

“And not to forget-” I set the plate of biscuits next to his saucer with a flourish. Bowing as I serve it, “Bon appetit!”

He clapped fervently, chuckling the entire time. “The coffee tastes surprisingly better than it looks, got to give you that.”

“Be grateful, it’s better than what you’ve got in the church.”

“Oh, a thousand times over, no doubt.” He inspects the plate, squinting his eyes. “But I feel like you’re deceiving me with these cookies.”

“What’s wrong with them?”

“I mean, just look!” He holds two up, looking nearly identical.

“Yeah, so?”

“How dare you to pass off shitty oatmeal raisin for chocolate fucking chip!” He throws the oatmeal raisin back to the plate in feign disgust. “An inferior biscuit if I ever saw one.”

“Hey, oatmeal raisin isn’t that bad! I quite enjoy it from time to time.”

“Oh please they’re liars!”

“Liars?”

“They look like chocolate chip, people think they’re biting into a great tasty treat and they’re left disappointed by the unwanted surprise of raisins. I don’t know what else could be worse than that.”

“Oh, I don’t know, the Holocaust was pretty bad.”

He smiles, shaking his head as he laughs at my joke. “That’s beside the point, who even eats oatmeal raisin when there’s a far superior choice right there?”

“I’ll eat it if you don’t want it, you big baby.” 

I reach over to get the offending biscuit when he grabs it from my hand, “No, no taking it back, it’s mine.”

I roll my eyes and go past him to clear the table of a couple who just left. 

“Your gallery’s expanded.” He says, munching on the cookie, wincing slightly whenever he’d bite into a raisin. 

“Yeah, felt bad for Stephanie, so I had to add a few hamster pictures up there. I don’t think anyone’s noticed or even cared...”

He begins to mumble, eyes squinting at a frame to the far right corner of the wall. “No, it can’t be. Is that-” 

I knew exactly what he was talking about.

“Is that a- a fox?” his voice raising a bit.

I smile from cheek to cheek. It was a picture that I had put up years before, a little inside joke that only I could see from my spot in the counter. That is, except now. “Yeah. Are those mean foxes still out to get you?”

“God, yes, more than ever.” He walks to the picture and picks it up gingerly. “I think Pam almost got mauled by one about a year ago. They didn’t use to be this ravenous, usually they’d just be curious. Looking around.”

He put the frame back and turns to me.

“They can’t seem to leave me alone.”

_Oops._

“There you go again. Disappearing.”

“Well, you’ve got your foxes, I’ve got my invisibility.”

“Oh trust me, you’re not capable of being invisible if you tried. I could spot you a mile away.” He takes a sip from his coffee. “You just have this thing, a habit, it’s like you’re gone. You’re physically here, but your mind’s elsewhere.”

The door rings as it swings open, disturbing us from our conversation, only realising then how intent it had been.

I mouthed a thanks to god for quite literally being saved by the bell.

“Hello there Joe, what brings you here? It’s not chatty Wednesday yet.” I say as I see him shuffling to the register as he would to order his usual cup of decaf. 

“Ah, yes, I know, I’m just here for some pastries, I heard all the ladies in the park rave about your muffins from the church bake sale.” He continues prattling on, bringing out his change purse as I ready an assorted box for him. He pays with his loose change, thanks me, acknowledges him with a nod and a “Father” and goes on his merry way.

“That Joe seems like quite the character.”

“Oh he is. Can’t seem to get rid of him. But I’ve grown fond of him, and he’s been a regular for years now.”

“That chatty Wednesday deal is a bit interesting.”

“What can I say, loneliness sells.” I arrange the change and place them inside the register. 

"That ever help you when you’re lonely?”

“A bit, but I also see a psychiatrist for that now.” I tease. “I’ve told her _all_ about you.”

“Huh.” he chuckles to himself.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, it’s just that,” He pauses and looks straight at me. “I talk to God all about you too.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thinking of writing more, but note so sure yet, I'm really pleased with how things ended and I don't want to deter from that. 
> 
> Still obsessed though, have watched it 5 times in 3 days!! AHHHH


End file.
